One Lord, One Faith
by Clouded Horizon
Summary: Autumn in Linwich: ex-convict and delinquent Stewart Scott is back in town. Reverend Ella Newton soon realises something has changed, but will the church find acceptance as easy? A story about prejudice, humility and the transforming love of Jesus Christ.
1. Prologue

A/N: OK, this is my first story in the Bible section :). This first chapter is quite short, and I might revise it at some point in the future, so I would appreciate some suggestions! Anyway, I hope you like it.

One Lord, One Faith

Prologue

Stewart stepped off the bus and onto the pavement, wrapping his coat tighter around himself in the chill breeze. He looked down the street with a mixture of apprehension and wistfulness, thinking how unchanged Linwich seemed. There was the post office, and beside it the off-license, and there the grocer's; on the other side the main row of houses, and no doubt behind them his old primary school and its playing fields were still standing. He had only been away a year, true, but it felt longer.

Leaves rustled as the wind picked them up and scattered them down the deserted street. It was late autumn now and the trees stood bare and stark against the white sky. Stewart started to walk, hands in his pockets, his prison haircut giving him scant protection against the cold. It being three o'clock on a Friday afternoon, none of the teenagers were back from school yet, and Stewart found himself feeling lonely in the quiet; but, he reminded himself, he did not particularly want to be seen by the village's entire under-eighteen population. Too many would recognise him, even with his year's absence, and then by Sunday the news of Stewart Scott's return would be all over Linwich.

Soon he had walked the length of the main street and turned off into the side-street where his old house was. He fingered the keys in his pocket. His own house; it felt strange to think that after his year in prison.

Finally he reached the gate. It was open, creaking slightly in the wind, and the tiny patch of grass that was his garden had gone wild. He stopped and looked up at the house, and with a sense of futility noticed the broken windows and the graffiti on the wall. Stewart guessed he was lucky the entire house had not been burnt out or knocked down.

He caught a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye and turned to see a couple of lads crossing the road further up. They stared at him unashamedly, and as he turned away, face red, he heard them talking in low voices as they walked up the street.

Quickly he put his keys in the door and opened it, stepping into the damp-smelling house. At seeing the scene inside, he was about to swear, then checked himself, sighing with frustration. Barely anything was left. He'd not had many things at the time of his arrest – most of his money had gone on cocaine and alcohol – but anything remotely valuable had since been stolen, and most of the rest smashed up. Stewart felt a stab of guilt, remembering the times he had thieved from houses to get money for crack. He'd not thought of how his victims must have felt.

He tried to turn the lights on, but the bulbs had long since been smashed or fused out. The nineteen-year-old sank down onto a packing case that had escaped looting, and remembered.

Two months before the end of his sentence, he'd not had any visitors. Stewart had never had much in the way of family – his dad had left them when he was a kid, his older sister had left not long after to pursue a job in London and his mum had tried to drown her sorrows in alcohol. Her heart attack two weeks after his eighteenth birthday hadn't come as much of a surprise.

So when he was told someone had come to see him, he had been surprised. Who would want to visit him in prison?

As it turned out, he had been even more shocked at the identity of his visitor; the lady minister from Linwich's small church, Reverend Newton. Sitting down at the visitor's table with the prison guard standing watchfully aside, he stared at her in undisguised confusion.

"Stewart," she said by way of greeting. "I take it you recognise me?"

"Um – Reverend," he said, unconsciously taking up a defensive tone. "I don't know why you're here, but if it's about what I did –"

"Listen," the middle-aged woman said firmly. "I've not come to see you to rake over the past. That's done and I don't wish to make it last longer. I simply want you to know that I am praying for you, and have been doing so since I found out you were on drugs."

Normally, Stewart would have thought of a smart answer to statement like that, but now he was simply dumbfounded.

"Praying?" he repeated stupidly.

"To Jesus, yes," Reverend Newton told him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Stewart could not say anything for a moment. But then he burst out, "But – you hate me, or you should do. I'm not church, I've never set foot in one in my life, and I've done much worse than take drugs."

"Why should I hate you?" Newton said, giving him a quizzical look. "The Lord Jesus loved all people, even the worst sinners. As his child and ambassador, I am called to be like him."

Stewart shook his head, incredulous. "But I –! Don't you get it, woman? I robbed your house and three others! I sold your kid cannabis!"

"And Jesus Christ still loves you. So must I." Newton clasped her hands together. "Think on this, Stewart Scott: you are loved by God. I'll pray for you." And with that she rose and left the room.

Back in his house, Stewart felt overpowering shame at the forgiveness that lady had shown him. Her visit and her words had troubled him for the remainder of his time in prison. What drove her to even talk to the man who had nearly ruined her son's life?

When the time had come for him to be released, at the bus station he had picked up a leaflet. Now he took it out of his pocket and looked at the title: "Greater Love Has No Man Than This."

He read it through. When he had finished, he crumpled the paper in his hands and hung his head.

So _this_ was why Reverend Newton had come to see him. This was the reason Christians had spread all over the world. This was why they seemed to care so much.

Guilt put icy hands around Stewart's heart. For the first time, he acknowledged that what it said in the leaflet was true: he had done so much wrong. He was out of prison now, but he still needed help. He needed help to break himself out of his selfishness and his anger and his greed. And the Christians had the answer. They had this man, Jesus Christ.

Stewart read through the text again, soaking up the words, finally understanding the things he had heard in bits and pieces throughout his life. Jesus Christ was God. And God had come to Earth, long ago, to die and rise again so that every single man and woman who ever lived would have the chance trust Him, and so avoid their punishment. Stewart thought back over his life. He'd fought with his parents and his sister, bunked off school, beat up other kids, and done countless other petty things he now recognised were wrong. Then he'd started to take drugs; first soft stuff like weed, then getting himself addicted to crack cocaine. He'd run out of money and, desperate for his next fix, stole his mum's money and bullied it out of his classmates. Eventually he'd resorted to breaking into houses, including the vicarage near the church, to nick saleable stuff. That was when the police had caught him.

For a long time, the young man sat there in the ruins of his house, dwelling on the mess he'd made of himself. As the sky grew darker, Stewart Scott came to a decision. He was in a deep pit, and he needed someone to pull him out.

Desperate, at last recognising the depth of his sin, he bowed his head and put his hands together awkwardly.

"Um – God," he said, putting all his hope into trusting someone could hear him. "I've messed up. And I'm sorry, I really am. I believe you died for me, and, well, that's amazing… I'm sorry. I want to do better now, and I don't think I can do that without you. Please help me." He felt his heart contract, and knew _something_ had happened, whatever it would mean for his life from now on.

"Amen," he added, as an afterthought. Then Stewart got up, and looked out of his lounge window. The sun had set. But somehow, the young man knew he had made a new beginning.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1, as promised :) Thanks to rainpaint and Billios for the reviews.

Chapter One

'_There is one body and one Spirit – just as you were called to one hope when you were called – one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.' _Ephesians 4 verses 4-6

Ella Newton woke up cold on Sunday morning. Shivering, she threw on her dressing gown and checked the radiator: ice cold. The one on the landing was the same. Exasperation made her irritable as she checked the boiler, passing her ten-year-old son James as he carried a bowl of cereal into the living room. "No TV!" she yelled, trying to figure out what happened to the central heating. "It's Sunday."

"_Mum_," James moaned.

"Don't _Mum_ me," Ella snapped. "You know the rules."

She left the boiler in frustration, putting the kettle on and hearing the chime of James' games console. Ella rubbed her temples, trying to stave off the coming headache. On mornings like this, it was hard to remember the principle of the Lord's Day.

_Help me today,_ she prayed, trying to trust the Lord with everything bothering her; the recurring heating problems, James' moodiness, the morning service she didn't feel ready for, her worries that she wasn't being a good enough parent to the boys and Abigail. _I need Your peace, Lord Jesus. _

While the kettle boiled, Ella ran through the usual litany of things she presented to God, knowing that she need not worry but fretting anyway. Why was it so hard to pray these days? _Please, Lord… I wish I could feel Your presence more clearly. How can I minister to my church if I don't have a sense of Your will?_

"Why's it so _cold_?" Michael's grumpy voice shouted from the top floor. Ella heard the sixteen-year-old stomping downstairs and clamped down on her irritation as he looked in the kitchen.

"Heating's down," she explained, getting her mug from the cupboard. "I'll have to get Ned to look at it again – do you want tea?"

"Ned's useless," Michael objected. "But yeah, please. We should get a proper electrician for once."

Ella sighed. "I told you, we just don't have the money at the moment unless it's really urgent. Ned's good enough to help us for free, and he's not that bad."

Michael shrugged and handed her the milk. Ella swirled a teaspoon in her mug and raised it to her lips, breathing in the warm, fragrant scent. Thank goodness for tea.

--

Stewart splashed cold water over his face blearily, looking in the dirty mirror and making a mental note to get himself a razor. He ran his fingers through his stubbly hair and reached for his toothbrush.

He'd spent the previous day attempting to clean up the ground floor of his house, clearing away the rotted cardboard, wood and other rubbish into black bin liners. The wallpaper was peeling off from damp, he'd found, and although he still got water through the taps, it was all cold. The kitchenette had been stripped of most of its fittings, and the radiators were broken. Stewart didn't fancy spending the winter in a cold house, so he'd written a list of things he needed, including a heater or two and a kettle; but he was worried about money – he'd just bought himself a sandwich yesterday, but most of the money he had would have to be used for food until he got himself a job. _And how I am I going to do that?_ Stewart thought anxiously. He'd only ever had a paper round, and all he had for qualifications were a series of C and D grades from his GCSEs. Besides, many of the adults round here would remember him, and he couldn't afford to travel too far out of town for work.

He dressed slowly, thinking. Stewart was determined to make an honest man out of himself; his experience on Friday had changed him, although he didn't quite know how.

_It's Sunday._ The thought surprised him, and he realised what it meant. Sunday was church day, when the religious people in Linwich attended the small parish church. _I should go. Maybe someone can help me. And – Reverend Newton will be there._

He knew his infant faith was at least partly due to the lady vicar's confusing visit a few months ago. If he hadn't been curious about what had provoked her to meet him, he wouldn't have picked up that leaflet at the station. She was a preacher, after all – she of all people was sure to know what he should do.

"OK," he said out loud, mainly to muster up some courage. "I'm going to church." The only time he'd stepped foot in a church in his life had been his mother's funeral. As far as he knew, he hadn't even been christened. Would that matter? Nervousness knotted up in his stomach. What if the church people didn't want him there? Most of them were old – they'd remember him, and what he had done.

Stewart went downstairs and put on his coat, hardly believing what he was doing. He had no idea when the church service began, but he might as well get there as soon as he could. Maybe he could find Reverend Newton and talk to her privately, without having to be seen by the rest of the church.

He picked up the leaflet he had read last night and turned to the back, where there was a section headed 'What next?'

'_So you've decided to follow Jesus. But what do you do next? Well, the first thing to do is to contact other Christians who are older in the faith. Find your local church, or talk to Christian friends or relatives. They will help you take the next steps and grow in your relationship with God. Also, pray. You've begun a friendship with someone who loves you more than anything – He wants you to talk to Him and for you to get to know Him.'_

There was more, but that sentence caught Stewart's eye. God wanted Stewart to _talk_ to him? Of course, he'd prayed on Friday night, and he felt surer today that God had heard him – but the leaflet said this was a friendship. You talked to friends about lots of things. Surely God wouldn't be interested in anything Stewart had to say?

Maybe he would.

"OK, God," he said tentatively. "I believe in you. I'm going to go to church to see if I can find out more about you. I guess that's what you want… um, Amen."

He felt stupid, talking to the air in an empty house. But he did feel a bit more confident about going to church. Maybe this wouldn't be quite as bad as he had thought…

A/N: I don't like that last little bit... :S anyway, review, please!


	3. Chapter 2

Hey :) sorry for the delay, it's taken me a while to write this. Thanks to rainpaint, Billios and Fayra Lee for the very helpful reviews.

Chapter Two

'_Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven – for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little." _Luke 7 verse 47

"Michael!" Ella yelled up the stairs as she unlocked the door. Abigail waited impatiently, brushing a stray lock of her strawberry-blond hair out of her eyes and holding James' Bible for him as he tied his shoelaces. "Are you coming to church? We have to leave now!"

"I'm coming," Michael affirmed as he hurried down, pulling on a brightly-coloured hooded top. Ella sighed mentally; although she didn't mind too much what her children wore to church, various older members of the congregation sometimes complained about their 'scruffiness' to her. Still, it was more important to Ella that Michael had started actually attending church again.

"All right, good. Come on, everyone."

The church was only down the street, so the vicar and her children usually walked. It was ten o'clock in the morning, half an hour before the service began, and the air was cold. The family walked quickly to get to the relative warmth of the church, although like many traditional buildings it was often chilly in autumn and winter. Ella entered the vestry to change and make the final preparations for the service, while James and Abigail helped put out hymnbooks. Michael sat awkwardly in one of the pews.

Ella thought about her eldest son as she changed. It was a year and a half now since the police had rung her, late on a Saturday night, to tell her Michael was being held at the station on suspicion of drug dealing; but the shock and sense of his and God's betrayal was still only gradually fading. She remembered what an awful parent she had felt when Michael admitted that he had been at a party that night, although he had told his mother he was staying at a friend's, and how angry she had been at her son. If the police had not found out that Stewart Scott, not Michael, had been the one selling the drugs, there could have been serious consequences for him. As it was – and Ella winced when she thought back – she had reacted near-hysterically, grounding Michael for months and distrusting virtually every word he said. In return he had withdrawn from her totally, refusing to go to church and even attempting to run away once.

Only recently had he started to come back to church, but the wound between Michael and his mother was still raw. It had taken much agonising in prayer for Ella to be convinced that she had to visit Stewart Scott in prison to fully forgive him, and maybe start to move on with her son.

She wondered what had come of that visit, if anything. _Lord, I pray again for you to work in that young man's heart,_ she prayed silently. _Show him Yourself._

People tricked into the church over the next twenty minutes, a mixture of the true Christians in Linwich and those who came because they always had, or because their parents made them. Not that she knew each person's heart, Ella reminded herself. But she had been vicar here for some years now, and it was fairly obvious by the weekday lives of her parishioners who truly believed, and who did not. She saw old Mrs Richmond direct a disapproving glance at James' ripped black jeans and sighed.

The service started off as normal, and after the prayers Ella stepped up to deliver the sermon. "Today I'd like to preach from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 7, starting at verse 36." A rustle of paper as some of the congregation turned to the passage in their Bibles. "This section in the Bible is titled 'Jesus Anointed by a Sinful Woman', and I'm going to consider what it says about God's grace towards us. If you have a Bible with you, please read with me."

Ella focused on the page and took a breath to begin, but something at the back of the church caught her eye; someone was coming in late. When she saw who it was, her heart leapt. Stewart Scott – only just released from prison, if she remembered correctly – was in her church! _Oh, thank you, Lord!_

A few of the parishioners noticed her pause, and turned round in their seats; Ella couldn't see their reactions. Pulling herself back to the task in hand, she started to read. "Now one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him…"

Stewart kept his head down in embarrassment as he sidled into the back of the church. He'd underestimated the time it would take him to walk here from his side of town, but at least he was here now. A couple of people turned to look at him, and he wondered what they thought of him. Irrational anger surged in him for a second as he imagined disapproving stares.

Then he concentrated on Reverend Newton's warm, familiar voice, realising she was reading from the Bible. As far as he could tell, it was a story about a woman who had come to see Jesus while he was having a meal with someone – a Pharisee, although Stewart hadn't a clue what that was. She had cried over him, poured perfume on his feet, wiped them with her hair. And strangest of all, Jesus hadn't minded at all. In fact, from the sound of it, he thought more of the woman than of his host.

For the next half an hour or so, the Reverend expounded on the passage she had read, preaching the message of Jesus' forgiveness with a strength and passion that surprised Stewart. He had thought of sermons as dry, dusty affairs, the kind of time where old people fell asleep and the seconds passed with interminable slowness. But to his shock, he was gripped; the simple truth that the railway station pamphlet had given him was explained further, elaborated on, put into a tangible context. God loved him. The God of the entire universe had loved this bad woman just as she was – loved Stewart, just as he was. As Reverend Newton closed the sermon, Stewart shook his head slightly, amazed again.

"As we close, let us pray," Ella said, clasping her hands on the pulpit; an old habit, not easily shrugged aside. Closing her eyes, she spoke out, still elated from the surprise of Stewart's appearance in the church. "Heavenly Father, we come to You now in humility, and thankfulness; we are grateful to You for Your endless love for us, and for helping us to see Your grace again this morning. We pray that this mercy would inspire us to greater devotion and higher worship, more like the adoration You deserve… Father God, enable us to reach out beyond ourselves, following Your example. We offer up our prayers and worship today; in the name of Your son Jesus, Amen." In the moment of silence that followed, Ella silently begged God's help for herself in going to meet Stewart Scott, as she knew she had to. The lady vicar was delighted at this answer of her prayers, but it didn't stop the tiny gnawing of resentment and fear that had stilted her words when she had visited him in prison. But as she stepped down from the pulpit, a strange feeling comforted her, soothing her anxieties. A Bible verse she had read recently appeared in her mind: _I lift up my eyes to the hills; where does my help come from? My help comes from the L__ORD__..._

Michael stretched as the congregation started to dissipate and got up, going over to the couple of friends he had who attended church. "Hey."

"Hi," Ed and Katie replied, the latter grinning happily at him, which caused an instant lift in his mood. Then Ed nodded to the back of the church, saying "Did you notice, Scott's here?" in a shocked tone.

Michael turned and saw the awkward-looking young man standing alone, and his stomach turned over. What on earth was the former headcase-in-chief of his and Ed's school doing _here_, of all places? Instinctively he looked guiltily over to his mother, who was talking to Mrs Richmond; but to his surprise, although she had to have noticed Scott's entrance, and discussions with the old lady usually put her in a worse mood than before, she had a delighted smile on her face. He turned back to Katie and Ed.

"What's _he _doing here?" he exclaimed.


	4. Chapter 3

Sorry for the long delay with this! Thanks to Billios, rainpaint, ranter551 (looking forward to reading your fic :) ), Fayra Lee and royallyinsane for the very encouraging and helpful reviews. Again, any suggestions would be really appreciated, as I'm having a bit of difficulty deciding how to link up my set plot points. :)

Chapter Three

Michael stretched as the congregation started to dissipate and got up, going over to the couple of friends he had who attended church. "Hey."

"Hi," Ed and Katie replied, the latter grinning happily at him, which caused an instant lift in his mood. Then Ed nodded to the back of the church, saying "Did you notice, Scott's here?" in a shocked tone.

Michael turned and saw the awkward-looking young man standing alone, and his stomach turned over. What on earth was the former headcase-in-chief of his and Ed's school doing _here_, of all places? Instinctively he looked guiltily over to his mother, who was talking to Mrs Richmond; but to his surprise, although she had to have noticed Scott's entrance, and discussions with the old lady usually put her in a worse mood than before, she had a delighted smile on her face. He turned back to Katie and Ed.

"What's _he _doing here?" he exclaimed.

-----

Stewart stood with his hands in his pockets, keeping his head down even though he knew just about everyone had recognised him by now. He glanced across at the Reverend and tried to summon up the courage to speak to her.

Suddenly the decision was made for him as she said goodbye to the older lady and caught his eye, smiling. Stewart smiled weakly back as she made her way over to him.

"Welcome, Stewart," she said warmly. "It's very good to see you here."

"Um – thanks." The young man realised he had been subconsciously expecting her to ask him _what_ he thought he was doing in church. Cheered by her friendly greeting, he went on. "I – I really enjoyed hearing you speak like that. It helped me a lot."

Reverend Newton blinked once, and Stewart thought he saw a flicker of confusion cross her face. "Well, I'm glad you thought so. May I ask what moved you to come here today? I don't think we've seen you here since you were in primary school." Her friendly manner somehow stopped the comment from being a rebuke. Stewart took a deep breath, trying to think of the words to say; he had come here to tell her, after all.

"The thing is, Reverend… you were the only one who visited me when I was inside. I thought I should tell you – I decided to become a Christian, um, last night." He looked down, waiting for a reaction, wondering if he was going too far.

"Oh, praise the Lord!" Surprised, Stewart looked the vicar in the eyes. Her face was the picture of surprised joy. "Stewart, this is wonderful!"

"Really?" Stewart responded, surprised.

"Yes. Tell me – how did this happen?" Reverend Newton's expression was animated, alive as it had been during her sermon. Stewart told her how her visit had prompted him to pick up the Christian leaflet, and what had happened from there. "And I came here because, well, I kind of need some help. I reckoned you'd know what there is to know about, er, being a Christian," he finished.

The Reverend took his hand as he stopped speaking and shook it firmly. "Welcome, Stewart," she said again, although this time he felt it meant something more. "I'm more thankful than you know that the Lord has done this for you… and I'd be glad to help you. I think, for the first thing – do you have a Bible?

"No, sorry –"

"That's fine, don't worry. I think we have some in the back; I'll get you one in a minute. If that's alright?" she added hurriedly, and Stewart got the impression that she was just as nervous as him. He nodded gratefully.

After a moment, the vicar returned with a medium-sized black book with a gold cross on the front and pressed it into Stewart's hands. "It's not entirely new, but –"

"That's fine," Stewart assured her awkwardly.

"All right. Well, I think the best place to start with reading it would be the gospel of Mark," Reverend Newton told him, "that is, when you can. It basically tells the story of Jesus' life – doesn't embellish it much. I hope – I hope we'll see you again next week?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'll come," he responded readily, with enthusiasm that surprised even the young man himself. "Thanks, Reverend, but I'd better go now."

"Goodbye – and thank you for telling me about your conversion, Stewart." She smiled, and it felt strangely natural to smile back as he left the church and the accusing stares of other members of the congregation.

-----

Sunday dinner in the Newtons' house that afternoon was a subdued affair, with the exception of James, who more or less kept a conversation going alone, talking nineteen to the dozen. Michael kept quiet; he knew James probably hadn't seen Scott in church this morning, and even if he had he wouldn't have known him. On the other hand, Abi and Michael recognised the young man who for years had been the hardest kid in Linwich and the surrounding area; a bully, a thug, then later a drug dealer and thief – they knew what it would mean that Stewart Scott was out of the lockup.

But Michael couldn't work out his mother's behaviour. He'd seen her talking to Scott, a huge smile on her face; a bigger smile than she gave Ned when he came round, and that was saying something. Now she seemed to be deep in thought, only talking when directly addressed. He didn't get it – but he couldn't ask. His and Mum's truce was fragile enough without reopening _that_ old wound. As James prattled on, he glanced at Abi, and saw that she too was studying Mum's face in puzzlement. Her eyes flickered over to him and she shrugged minutely.

After stacking the plates into the dishwasher, the family dispersed in the usual Sunday afternoon pattern; Michael to his room to listen to music, Abi and James to the lounge to read or play a board game or bicker, and Ella to her study for a quiet half an hour reflecting on the morning's service and preparing for the evening. But with her Bible open in front of her and the next service's sermon notes, Ella found that all she could pray about was Stewart. A real conversion in her community was a heady, if rare experience; praise that seemed so foreign in drier times flowed from her lips in a stream, fervent thanks for the Lord's miraculous work and the answers to many of her prayers. Gradually her elation slowed, but the rest of her dialogue with God was taken up with intercession for the young ex-convict. "Lord, keep him safe in your hands these first few weeks; they're always the hardest… especially as he hasn't anyone at home to hold him accountable. Speak to him through your Word, and help him understand more of what you did for us. Please, Lord, give me the words to help him next week…"

Michael heard the murmuring of his mother's voice through the study door on his way downstairs. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but passing right beside the door, he distinctly heard her mention _Stewart_.

He actually stopped mid-step, it was that shocking. The sixteen-year-old wasn't sure if he really believed in his mum's God any more, but still – she was mentioning the thug who had robbed their house and sold him and his friends drugs in her _prayers_? This was getting weird. One explanation occurred to him briefly, but he dismissed it out of hand; that was one thing that was never going to happen. Michael continued quietly down the stairs, trying to make sure his mother hadn't heard his abrupt pause. What was going on?

-----

The following evening, Stewart trudged wearily back up the drive and unlocked his back door. The young man had spent a fruitless day in Linwich's neighbouring town of Addingley, checking all the recruitment centres and shops for job vacancies. He doubted anyone actually in Linwich would employ him; his reputation as a thug and a user hadn't disappeared in the last year. Anxiety knotted in his stomach.

He had some basic food, which would keep him for a few days, but his money was running dangerously low. Stewart sat dejectedly on a box and ate an unsatisfying supper of dry bread and an apple. He looked at the Bible Reverend Newton had given him, and a small voice wondered; doubted.


End file.
